Seared Onto His Hearts
by Ash to Dust
Summary: 'A mother's love holds fast and forever.' Sometimes the Doctor has days when everything becomes a little too much and he locks himself away to mourn alone. Amy may not be able to fill the whole felt by his losses but she's going to take her newfound role as his mother-in-law seriously, even if it means breaking him to help him heal, surprising revelations emerge. Rating to be safe.


_N.B: This turned out somewhat more angsty than I expected but the plot bunny was refusing to let go, sort of stand-alone spin off from the Mark of a Time Traveller series. AshtoDust x  
_

Seared Onto His Hearts

'_A mother's love holds fast and forever.'_

Amy knew what it was like to lose family. In the big picture of things she'd lost a lot of family, but at least she'd gained some. Watching the Doctor, curled up in one of the chairs in the library, supposedly reading one of the great Gallifreyan tomes, she hoped that between them, her, Rory and River, they'd given the Doctor some family to begin filling the hole left behind.

Of course she'd known how could she not? In the way the Doctor had spoken about the girl crying on their first proper trip together, in the way he'd instinctively held baby Melody in just the right way, everything screamed 'parent' to her. The way he avoided the questioning also made her feel immensely sorry for him, because the sadness in his eyes and his bearing also told her that this was a parent that had outlived his children and it had broken him.

Losing Melody had done that same thing to her and although everything had sorted itself in the end, she'd never properly got to raise her little girl, she'd lost her and although she loved River, they could never regain what was lost.

Today, for some reason was one of those days.

That's what she'd nicknamed them at any rate. The days of silence, the days the Doctor mourned. He tried not to show it of course, but he clearly wasn't reading, the page remained unturned, his gaze focussed on something beyond the page, something only he could see.

Usually when he was like this she would leave him alone, allowing him that bit of solitude but not today. Since his return at Christmas she'd started to see him differently, because he was her son-in-law now and whilst it had taken some time for her to get used to the idea she actually quite liked it.

Seeing him this forlorn, so empty, she felt it was her duty to do something. She couldn't let him suffer alone anymore. So instead of backing away and finding her husband she stepped forward, keeping her steps quiet and respectful until she found herself sat beside her raggedy man.

He hadn't reacted to her presence, which worried Amy more than a little, he was far gone today. Slowly, she reached out; expecting him to react violently as she gently laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, right over his mark. As she made contact he jumped, brought suddenly back into the real world and his hands flew to his face to wipe away tears Amy had barely noticed falling.

"Amy." Never had so much emotion filled one word. He was still turned away from her, scrubbing at his face, putting back up the mask, and hiding behind the façade.

No, not today.

Amy reached out and took hold of his hands, forcibly pulling them away from his face, he fought her but if she was anything Amy was stubborn, and Scottish.

"Amy." This time her name was chocked out as a sob, a desperate plea.

"No Doctor, I'm not leaving you this time."

"Please…"

"Not today," Amy dropped her hand from his shoulder, moving it to join her other, clasping his hands in her lap, "because everyone needs to let it out sometimes."

Finally, a reaction, as the Doctor turned his head and faced her, eyes swilling with pain and loss, tears still escaping despite his every attempt to stop them.

"Amy, I can't, I just, I can't." He was rambling, emotionally vulnerable and genuinely had no idea how to deal with it. Amy knew what it was like. So she did what she would instinctually do if he had really been her son, she raised her hands to cradle his face and looked straight into the turbulent depths of his eyes.

Windows to the soul, no kidding.

"It's alright to cry, and to be angry, and to want to scream at the sheer unfairness of it all. Bottling it up won't help; you've got to let it out. Talk if it helps, but you don't have to."

"Amy." A whisper, confused.

"We're not trying to replace what you've lost and we don't want to. Cos we know what it's like to lose people, don't you dare interrupt me, Doctor we know, we'll never understand but we've been through something similar, Rory and I. Let us help you." Her own eyes were beginning to well up now, fresh tears streaked down the Doctor's face.

"Amy, I don't know what to do."

"That's ok. We're here for you. I know you probably don't see me like this but you are my son-in-law, and I'll be damned if I'll let my children cry silently when I can do something about it. I'm not your mother, I know that, but if you ever need to talk, or to laugh or just have someone hold you because everything's getting too much you can come to us alright?"

Amy's never felt so sincere in her life and she'd glad because what she says has an effect.

The Doctor breaks.

In one smooth movement his arms are around her and his head is buried in her shoulder and he's sobbing his hearts out without any thought or care. Instinctually Amy's arms wrap around his shaking form, one head moving to gently run through his silky mop of hair, the beating of his hearts a dance against the palm resting on his back. He clutches at her as though she's the only thing stopped him from drowning as he finally releases hundreds of years of pain. Amy holds him just as tightly, lightly shushing him, hand still carding through his hair because suddenly he's not the man who's seen it all, he's a lost little boy crying out for help and until now, no one's ever listened.

They stay like that for some time. Amy has no idea how long they actually sit there, it feels like hours but she knows it can't have been that long. Eventually the Doctor calms and for a moment she thinks he's cried himself to sleep but then he shifts, pulling back. Amy lets him, but doesn't let go, keeping a hand on his, the other tenderly wiping away the tear tracks on his face.

At some point Rory has joined them, perched on the Doctor's other side and his hand comes to rest gently on the Doctor's back. It feels right, to cocoon him between them.

"Do you want to talk about them," Amy asks as the Doctor slowly leans back into Rory's offered arm, on some base instinct seeking the comfort his presence exudes, "your children?"

Immediately the Doctor stiffens and Amy wants to take the words back, worried that he's going to bolt. But instead he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"I can't Amy, please don't make me. I just, it's too raw." His voice is rough and cracks halfway through the sentence. Amy doesn't push it. The three of them sit in silence, the Doctor slumped against Rory, eyes closed, Amy's hands holding his, resting in his lap.

It surprises them all when the Doctor's voice breaks the stillness.

"She was ginger." Instantly Amy sits up straighter, gives his hands an encouraging squeeze. What he says next surprises her even more.

"My mother was ginger. You remind me of her sometimes." The Doctor's voice is quiet, his eyes still closed but at least he's talking, if not about his lost children then about another, perhaps harder loss.

"What was she like?" This time it's Rory that speaks. The Doctor shifts, burying his head further into Rory's shoulder.

"Normal I suppose. Nothing special, not to anyone else. Her hair was ginger, not a proper ginger, sort of ginger-ish, golden maybe. Not even born yet by your timelines. She was just a normal girl from England but somehow she caught my father's heart."

"Wait," Amy interrupted, picking up on a slight detail, shock leaking into her voice, "your mother was human?"

The Doctor nodded.

Not so alien after all then.

"Should have been impossible. Time Lords aren't a particularly fertile race, but mum always did like impossible. She even moved to Gallifrey, left her own people behind when she married father. Don't really what she saw in him but she must have loved him."

A pause.

"Did you know that I was the first child to be naturally conceived and born on Gallifrey in nearly a millennium? No, course you didn't. Made me different, interesting and dangerous. Other kids were wary around me. Teased me because I wasn't pure, wasn't completely Gallifreyan., had that little bit of human DNA that made all the difference."

The Doctor gave a little sad laugh.

"When mum found out she marched up to the kids parents and told them to stuff it. Probably used ruder words than that but it did the trick. Told them I was her little miracle. She loved to call me that. It couldn't last. Mum was only human; her lifespan was so much shorter than mine. Defied the council during the Time War and everything, but she was old by then, so was I but only because I'd been travelling through time for so long. I never got to say goodbye."

The Doctor fell silent again, he had barely made it to the end, voice breaking apart. He had worn himself out emotionally and he had no more tears to cry. So Amy and Rory cried for him, their hearts breaking to hear his story and they knew that was only a fraction of his sorrow.

"I have her eyes. Every time I look in the mirror I see her because I have her eyes, human eyes."

"What was her name?" Amy's voice was quiet, the question timid.

"Leyna." Gathering herself Amy shifted so she was facing her raggedy man, his eyes cracked open to watch her.

"You know what Doctor, she sounds incredible and beautiful and I think she would be so very proud of you."

"Really?" His voice was fragile, quiet.

"I know I am." The Doctor felt Rory nod in agreement and couldn't stop a weak smile.

"Ginger is cool huh?"

"Yeah," Amy agreed, "definitely cool."

The family stayed in the library all night, the Tardis humming a lullaby to sooth them all to sleep. And in her dreams Amy planned, determined to see mother and son reunited if it was the last thing she did.


End file.
